Orange Soda
by Lira is a Girl's Name
Summary: A teenage Luce Worth drops in on Lamont at his summer job in order to get out of the heat and perform a little sexual harassment in the workplace. Semi-follows Youthful Indiscretion. Stand-alone. Luce/Lamont.


**AN:** This was originally written as a present for Ven. It's sort of set in the same timeline as Youthful Indiscretion but really all you need to know is that Luce and Lamont are probably seventeen and that this is set in about 1994. As such Lamont perhaps shouldn't be able to work in an establishment selling tobacco, but it's a mom-and-pop sort of place, probably owned by a friend of his family. This kind of assumes that Luce and Lamont have been fooling around a bit before now, but that it's a recent development. Hanna is Not a Boy's Name still belongs to Tessa Stone, and I mean no insult nor infringement. Also, Chiharu_Octavia drew an illustration for this that is on both deviantart and y-gallery.

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ORANGE SODA

_-by: Lira-_

_._

The bell over the convenience mart door chimed dimly when Luce pushed inside, barely registered in the wake of the cool puff of the AC against his face. Luce's mother was conducting an experiment. The experiment seemed to take the form of a hydroponics greenhouse in their attic, a new venture in home-gardening to follow her utter failure outdoors on their patio. The experiment was also somehow responsible for the failure of their air conditioning, the impetus that had driven Luce from his home in the first place.

Naturally, his first course of action was to show up at Lamont's current place of work.

On the way through the store, gooseflesh already prickling on his arms, Luce snagged a bottle of orange soda out of one of the refrigerators. He deposited it on the counter, and when Lamont didn't immediately look up, he leaned over further until he was as far into Lamont's space as he could reach.

"Think yeh need t' ring up m'soda, cashier boy."

Lamont actually seemed surprised, for a moment, to find Luce in his face. But then he drew back and gave Luce a disbelieving look. "You've tried this five times now. Aren't you bored yet, or are you going for an even dozen? I'm not handing you off free sodas."

"Said ring it up," Luce clarified. "Never said Aye wasn't gunna pay, but if Aye kin change yer mind..."

"Fuck, Luce, that wasn't an invitation. Go away."

"'M enjoyin' th' _fine atmosphere_ of yer quaint lil' convenience store, doan' think Ah'm in such a hurry t' wander back out. Shouldn'cha be tryin' to hone yer salesmanship? Sell me a pack'a cigarettes an' maybe a few've them fragrant taquitos yeh 'ave goin' rotisserie-style over there?"

"Maybe if you want to shit for a week, and get me fired for selling tobacco to someone underage. Seriously, Luce. Fuck off."

Luce's response was to push the orange soda farther across the counter, give Lamont a pointed look, and then stroll around the counter to the half-door that separated it from the store proper. Casually as could be, he reached over top the door and moved to flick the lock open.

"Wait! Luce!" Lamont protested as soon as he saw what was happening, but that was the point when the first few awkward giggles started to leak out. Luce had pulled shit at Lamont's work before, dropping by when he was bored, but he had previously stuck to mouthing off and trying to get free shit. He hadn't ever tried to violate the sanctity of Lamont's cashier's recess.

"Shaddup," was all Luce offered back, getting the door partway open despite Lamont shoving it closed on him once. He wedged his skinny body in between, taking the force of the door closing again against his hip and mostly ignoring it. The only sign that he'd felt the impact of very solid door was a brief groan, leaking out between his teeth but unacknowledged by Luce himself.

Lamont had his arm across the door, fingers wrapped around the rim of its upper surface, the pose placing him so that he was leaning across Luce. Luce offered a cocky smirk, squeaked out the rest of the way into the cashier's well, and edged Lamont back into the space in the process. The area was long, but narrow, and Luce saw no problem with shoving Lamont, just hard enough to make him stumble once, just enough for that momentary advantage. He kept it, advancing across the space behind the counter until they both heard Lamont's back connect with the far wall.

"Dammit, Luce," Lamont grit out. He hadn't pushed back or hit Luce yet, perhaps because he was on the clock and the overwhelming knowledge that _he was at work_ was keeping him from succumbing and participating in a fight. "You aren't supposed to be back here, this is where the cash register is, if my boss comes in-"

It was a very reasonable line of argument, which Lamont was delivering in the best logical tone he could muster. It was simply the unfortunate truth that this didn't matter to Luce for two seconds. He would much rather provoke something, and it was starting to register that it wouldn't be as simple as normal to stir Lamont to violence. Violence was his usual desired outlet, something not entirely quantified in his head but which he would not bother arguing. It was a release to hit someone, to bruise up their face or make them bleed, and it was an equally satisfying sot of release to be hit back and have a foreign hand do some damage for a change.

It wasn't a need Lamont often failed to satisfy, all with little verbal specification accompanying.

"Yer boss's checked out fer th' afternoon, an' we both know it," Luce finished for Lamont, before the neat list of explanations could continue. "No one's comin' in t' buy _lemonade_ or _taquitos_ or any of th' other shit on sale, so'm thinkin' yeh 'ave somethin' yeh shoul' be worried about other'n yer job performance."

Lamont's face registered a brief flash of disbelief followed by a dull echo of irritation, but the verbal protest ceased. He knew which tactics were unlikely to work well with Luce, and arguing back was most often construed as encouragement. Unfortunately, he was wedged in a small space and short of giving Luce a nice, satisfying push, he didn't have a lot of ready options.

"This is mature," was what he settled for saying.

Luce's gaze took on a little manic gleam, brain turning around the word for the interpretation that would cut appropriately, the measure of challenge in that look revealing that why yes, he had received an idea. It was a fumbling sort of grasp, made while simultaneously turning his body so his back was to the store, spread fingers of his hand sliding into place against Lamont's crotch. The look of honest surprise he was met with proved that it had not been expected. Luce took that as yet another victory, yet another little win, yet another small push to keep him going down the path once set.

"Fuck, Luce, _you are not_-" Lamont began to say, scandalized tone not yet dropping into proper anger. He grabbed for Luce's wrist with one hand.

"Aah," Luce murmured, a mimicry of sincere quiet. "No one's in th' store now, but if yer hollerin' fer someone t' _help yeh_ an' jes' gittin' louder an' louder like some poor rape victim in an alleyway callin' fer tha' unseen savior-"

"My god Luce you did _not_ just make that reference-" Lamont resumed, the horror from before redoubled. It was not so much surprise that Luce would make light of something serious and potentially touchy, but that he'd seen fit to paint Lamont into the role of "woman being taken advantage of." It was not an implication he in _any_ way appreciated.

"Tol' yeh t' shut th' fuck _up_, Mont," Luce said, conversationally, the tone of one who in no way saw himself doing something wrong. His hand grasped every time Lamont moved, like trying to keep his friend pinned, and when Luce reached the point of being fed up with objections he raised his other hand to clamp over Lamont's mouth.

Lamont hit him. Or he tried. There was no space for good leverage, and the muffled thump of his fist against Luce's chest sounded like nothing more clearly than defeat. At the same time, though, he reflexively bit down at the fingers attempting to seal over his airway, producing an audible hiss from Luce before he leaned forward and pressed his hand tighter at Lamont's face.

"Yer gunna be quiet now," Luce continued, in the same tone, with just a hint of added tension at the degree of effort it required to detain a teenage boy who was actively biting and trying to push him away. "'Cause if someone act'ly shows up righ' abou' now, or in another couple'a minutes, yer jes' gunna be more embarrassed an' then wot th' fuck d'yeh say?"

The shoving stopped, although the clamping of Lamont's teeth was still grinding the bone of two fingers together, in a way that would have stirred interest in Luce's pants all by itself. Luce was wearing a nasty, superior look, because he was reading Lamont's response as realization and then resignation, a combination he saw to spell further victory for him. His smirk widened and his hand worked, able to pay attention to fly and fastenings with the level of protest reduced to what could be described as "token."

Luce found that he kind of liked Lamont's literal inability to say anything, his persistent teeth-grinding registering as that last incensed form of protest. He liked it separate of the press of teeth, although he was certainly appreciative of the sharp pain and the stress to muscle and bone that would surely leave some interesting bruises for later. It was appealing because Lamont was silent, not from lack of words to offer but rather without choice, and Luce could say whatever the hell he wanted with virtually no difficulty.

Luce still expected, to a point, a knee to the groin if he wasn't careful, or something else nasty. He'd said enough, given enough reason for anger and a swift counter. It was a quick motion with which he yanked at his own belt, grasping at himself familiar even when the situation and locale was not. There wasn't the option to be timely, to think. Just to palm his dick once, twice, again shove his hand into the front of Lamont's pants but with eyes on Lamont's face. It wasn't so much a conscious thought, but without actively deciding, he fell to that directness. He didn't have the shame nor need to look away, like he was doing something awkward and questionable. He'd rather have Lamont watch him grin, and leer, when fingers closed around Lamont's length and tugged.

Luce pressed his hips forward, thumb sliding against his dick to grasp himself as well. His back was still to the store, crowding them into the corner of that small aisle space, where they would certainly look questionable but not instantly incriminated. There was a certain degree of don't-give-a-fuck about being caught or even the possibility, of thrill of like at the very idea. But there was also a surprising saving grace – the need to _do_ it, get his rocks off and force this occasion without being walked in on and stopped before he could come.

It was the ache in his hand that further reduced whatever stamina Luce had, the twinges of pain starting to jump along the straining muscles in his forearm. His hips bucked forward, persistent, shoving against Lamont and not caring that the upward strokes with his hand were uncoordinated because it was _really quite well enough._ It would have been some kind of demeaning without any response from Lamont, with only that passive horror and distracted biting into the flesh of Luce's fingers. But it was the cementing extra thrill of hard flesh against his palm that made it a complete victory, the proof that hey, _wasn't Lamont getting off too_?

Luce wasn't used to that. Whatever else he'd done, whatever bluster he'd affect, he hadn't ever thought about _getting Lamont off_ because christ, that was just too much faggotry. It was when he was close to coming, moaning low but insistent and with eyes just lightly glazed, that the mental disconnect realigned. It was just another sort of power, another action akin to shoving Lamont if he was angry or punching as a means to an end, saying something nasty to get a certain reaction. Luce had a certain attraction to that kind of power over a particular person, that thought about their strange power dynamic the last little push before Luce came.

He found that his opinion on power was unrevised in his afterglow, in lazily watching Lamont finally lose it and come in his hand, with Luce touching him.

If he actually thought about it, the normative constraints, the knowledge that this was /pretty faggy/ and something that could be used against him just as well as Lamont if someone had their information right and knew what they were doing, would be a buzzkill. But Luce was the master of ignoring what was thrust hard in his face, swiping his hand against the side of Lamont's pants with a look like nothing had even happened. It was of import not to bother talking about it. To facilitate this, he moved out of the cashier's aisle, swinging back around to the customer's side without being told.

"Yeh still need t' ring up m' fuckin' orange soda," he pointed out, all false helpfulness.

It was kind of hard to take a vitriolic look seriously just then. And hey, Lamont rang up the soda. Luce imagined he hadn't tasted much things sweeter.

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End file.
